


Healing Broken Things

by smolonde



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Blood, Broken Bones, Depression, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, caliborn is an asshole, drinking occasionally mentioned/occurs, jake's death is half the first chapter, sad initially, this is a lot different from what i normally write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolonde/pseuds/smolonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk's boyfriend has just died two months ago in a brutal car crash, and the aftermath is making Strider lose his apathetic mask. The fact is that he's also broken both his shoulders, and he has to go to physical therapy for three months more. Not at all helping the situation is the unbelievably hot personal trainer assigned to him, who constantly pokes fun at him and flirts. Dirk is quite obviously thrown for a loop by this guy, and something begins to form between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash and Climb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t0talcha0s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/gifts).



 

You sit in the passenger seat of your boyfriend’s all-terrain Land Rover, the country road full of potholes as you drive home below the stars. Apple orchards appear in the headlights, the bright yellow beams shining past the leaves into the thick foliage. The comfortable silence between the two of you is broken by the sound of the CD Jake burned before you left, Tight Pants Body Rolls blaring from the speakers of the car. You roll your eyes, smiling at your goofy boyfriend, then begin to sing along, poking Jake’s cheeks as his dimples start to show just below his green eyes, which flicker off the road and towards you. The face of a man with dark, pointed shades stares at you as you disappear into them, your heart immediately warming, and you forget where you are as you lower your shades to make direct eye contact with him. He puts a big, warm hand on your knee, and you look down at it, Jake’s dark brown thumb stroking your skin.

“Dirk.” His eyes are serious, something you’re not used to.

“Yeah?” Your heart pounds.

“Dirk, I… I love you.” The hand on your knee grips tighter, but you barely notice, because your grin is threatening to split your face in half. You lean forward to look more closely at the gorgeous man, your hands grasping the seat.

“Jake, I love you too.”

And suddenly, an earsplitting noise of glass breaking cuts the moment short, a sharp tremor hitting your shoulders and causing you to howl in pain as the car skids off the road into a ditch and rolls over. You are thrown out of the Rover’s sunroof, landing with a thump on gravel. Your shoulders are aflame and your face is pockmarked from tiny glass shards and rocks that have made their way just under the skin. Almost instantly, a single thought runs through your head.

_Jake._

You attempt to drag yourself towards the car, but your arms give out under your useless shoulders and you land on the ground again, facing the car. Your eyes, still shadeless, search for familiar green eyes with alarm, only to land on your beautiful boyfriend halfway through the windshield, gagging and coughing, a foot-long shard of glass spearing all the way through his throat. You scream and scream for an eternity, then black out.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._ The sound of a machine is the first thing that registers in your mind. You crack your eyes open, and the first thing that you see is white with cracks spanning it. You think for a moment that you might be dead, and then you look around. You’re lying in a hospital bed, an IV in your arm, your torso feeling unusually numb. You rack your brains trying to think what you could possibly be doing here, and then it all rushes back at you in a flash of horrified panic.

_Jake’s blood dripping down the windshield, gagging, his mouth only making burbling sounds as blood rushes from the gash in his neck. His throat trying to move around the glass. And just moments before; “Dirk, I love you.”_

Gasping, you try to shoot to your feet, but a sharp pain travels from your back into the nape of your neck. You look down to realize that both your arms are in slings, and you yell in surprise. The door opens with a bang, and a woman rushes in.

“Mr. Strider, please calm down.” Her voice is deep, smooth, and accented, kind of what you’d imagine caramel to sound like. She is tall, with a hijab covering her hair except for a black strand just barely peeking out. Her makeup and red lipstick are flawless on her light brown skin, and there are swirling tattoos peeking out from under her dark green nurse’s uniform. Her hospital ID reads _Porrim Maryam, RN_. She looks at you almost sternly. “Your broken shoulders certainly will not appreciate this.”

“Where is he?” Your voice comes out jumbled and panicked.

“Mr. Strider… I’m sorry to be the one to inform you of this.” She places her perfectly manicured hand on your knee, and you flinch, remembering Jake holding onto your knee just seconds before the crash. She quickly lets go of you. “Mr. English was rushed to the ER for his injuries, but he died almost immediately on arrival.” She looks at you with wide, bottle-green eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dirk.”

You slump backwards on your pillow, a numbness descending over you, even more consuming than the one enveloping your shoulders. And for the first time in you don’t know how long, years, maybe, tears begin falling from your eyes.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The funeral is big, a closed casket affair. Men and women from all over the country file resolutely into the church, all bowing their heads as they take seats in the pews. You sit on the steps of the cathedral, six days after the accident, maybe nine days, you can’t remember. You’ve mostly been holed up in your apartment after Dave drove you home from the hospital and set up his stuff on your pullout couch. The casts made it almost impossible to do anything, so you didn’t bother to eat, shower, or even turn on the TV by yourself. You just kind of sat on your bed, resting up against the headboard, blankly staring at the wall. Dave had to help you bathe and make sure that you didn’t pass out by force-feeding you apple juice and chicken noodle soup every few hours. You pretty much threw it all up anyways.

You’re aware that you look like a hot mess; your blond hair is mussed, your eyes have black and purple bags around them, and the suit you’re wearing is crumpled and linty. Jake’s family isn’t looking much better, either. Grandma Jade has been sobbing her eyes out for the last week, barely getting up in the mornings. Whenever you and she make eye contact, she bursts into tears, and you have to look away to make sure that you don’t do it either. You and she will likely never speak again, and somehow, you don’t care. You love the old lady to death, but you just can’t bring yourself to care. Now that Jake’s gone, you’re basically a zombie.

As the last trickle of people enter the door, you get up and sigh, only to regret it immediately as your shoulders scream in pain. As you walk into the church, taking your seat amongst the throng of people, people point and whisper. _Hey, isn’t that Jake’s boyfriend? I heard he was there when it happened. Poor kid. No one should have to deal with that._ You see a young woman crying into her handkerchief next to you, wearing red-rimmed glasses around her pretty, plump face. When she lifts her face, you are shocked to realize it’s one of your best friends. Jane’s eyes are full of tears, her cheeks flushed. She and you look at each other for a moment, and instinctively you try to reach around her shoulders, but she flinches away. The shock of your eyes meeting hers is too much for both of you, and eventually she gets up and moves to another pew.

Roxy is sitting up at the front, staring resolutely at Jake’s casket, clearly trying not to cry. You want to talk to her so badly, your closest friend, the one who’s stuck with you through thick and thin, but you can’t. The loss of Jake has ripped a hole through your friend group, and you can’t even look at Roxy and Jane without tears prickling from behind your shades.

Oh, yeah, your shades. The police found them under the seat of the car, in perfect condition. Funny that your shades lived and Jake died. You suppose that at least you have something to hide behind.

The funeral begins, the priest praying over Jake’s body. People are invited up to say a few words, and you wait your turn with grim anticipation. Among the speech-givers are Jane, Roxy, Jade, and you, the four people who Jake’s life and death impacted the most.

Jade goes first. “I remember the day that my grandson turned seventeen and I took him to the mainland to see Avatar. He was so transfixed by the beauty of the screen that he began seeing movies all the time. And each time he’d come home and tell his little old grandma all about the movies with so much fire in his eyes. And that’s what Jake was all about. Passion. Love. This boy was simply made of beauty and adventure, and I…..I…” Silence descends as she bursts into tears and her sobs echo around the church.

Jane steps to the podium after gently escorting Jade down. She clears her throat. “Jake…” Her voice cracks, and she turns to sob, then coughs and turns back around. “Jake was probably my first crush.” She laughs embarrassedly. “Whenever I wanted to talk, Jake was there. When I needed a shoulder to cry on, Jake was there. Sometimes, he’d hurt me without knowing it, but he was there for me when I needed it the most. Even after I got over Jake, he was still there for me. I’m just sorry I was never there for him.” She steps down, mumbling her thanks and crumples into the front pews.

Roxy is next, but you know immediately that something is wrong. She does not walk to the podium; no, she stumbles. Her eyes are unfocused, her dress is stained with liquid and her hair is ruffled. Your throat closes up as soon as you realize it. She’s drunk; you can smell the liquor wafting from the podium in the first pew. “Hey, so…. Jakey…. He was a nice dude…. And he was fuckin’… smart as fuck… He was pretty goddamn funny… sometimes we streamed moves… movis…. Movies together. And you know, one time, we were sittin’ on my coach… my crouch… my couch, hehe… and we cuddled. He was warm…. And then he had to go leave me.” Roxy flashes a million-watt smile, and then her face crumples. She slides behind the podium until the only sounds that the church can hear are sobs of “Jakey” and hiccupping noises.

You rise from your seat and slouch to the front of the room, picking Roxy’s body up off the floor and placing her into the pew. Then, you step onto the platform and begin to speak, drawing the speech from your front pocket. “Ever since the day I met Jake, I was filled with a desire to know him, to understand him,” you read, almost robotically. “I fell for him in a minute flat.” Wrong. This is all wrong. “Jake was the man that made me feel comfortable with myself.” You look at the words, but they begin to blur.

“Fuck it. Fuck it all.” You throw your speech down on the floor. “Y’all want me to say a ton of nice things about Jake, but there’s one fact we’re all overlooking. He’s dead. He’s fuckin’ gone, and we can’t do one goddamn thing about it. So don’t try to make me do this happy memory bullshit, because I…” Your voice cracks roughly. “I can’t.” Tears are beginning to drip from behind your shades, and the pain in your shoulders is consuming you. “Jake English,” you say, addressing the coffin directly, running your hand on the smooth oak. “I love you too.” And you press your lips to the surface of the coffin. And you are the one to beckon the pallbearers to leave the room.

Jake’s casket is gently lowered into the earth, and when it hits the ground and the first spadeful of dirt is littered over the brown surface, you turn and walk away.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s been six weeks since the funeral, and you’ve barely left the hospital the entire time. Your shoulders require constant attention; scans, a plate in the left shoulder’s joint to help its breaks heal easier, and constant pain medication. Jake isn’t far from your mind, though, and you’ve taken to getting totally stoned on painkillers whenever his name gets brought up in conversation. You’re starting to run out, though, so it leaves you with more time to think about him when you’re lying prostrate in your hospital bed.

He said that he loved you. And you were so ready to say it back, and when you did, he died. You’re starting to get used to it, how the people you love end up getting hurt. You’re starting to wonder if it’s a Strider thing, like Dave claims it is, or if it’s just a Dirk thing. It seems more like the latter. After all, how many people has your brother killed?

You’re jarred out of thought by a nurse entering the room. It isn’t Porrim, like it normally is, but instead a lanky, tall Vietnamese man. Oh no; this jerk.

“Sollux. Long time, no see, I guess.” It takes all your willpower for your hair not to rise when you say his name. Your brother’s been dating this ass for almost a year now, and you still can’t stand him.

“Dirk, you know you can tone down the hostility.” His voice. God, you don’t know how Dave can enjoy that irritating, geeky voice, but apparently he does, as before you moved out, you could hear every single noise through the wall. Every night Sollux stayed over, you were constantly plagued by cries of “Talk dirty to me, Sollux,” or “Fuck! Ah, keep going.” It really didn’t do you any favors; hearing your brother get fucked senseless isn’t your idea of a lullaby.

“What the hell do you want, man?” This douche had to have a job in your personal circle of hell. Your boyfriend’s dead, you’re in a pit of depression, both your shoulders are broken, you haven’t seen your friends in months, and on top of all that, you have to deal with this asshole.

He sighs and makes a motion for you to rise. “You’re gonna need to start going down to the PT wing.”

You stay sitting. “PT?”

He sighs again, looking at a red wristwatch that you’re pretty sure Dave bought him for his birthday. “Physical therapy, Dirk. Let’s go.”

You get to your feet and follow Sollux out of the room. The two of you ride in silence down a rickety elevator, and when the doors of the 2nd floor slide open, you’re facing two sliding glass doors. As Sollux leads you through them, you note the weights littered about the room, a lifting bench, and harnesses attached to the firm brick wall. There is also a climbing wall. But all that gets washed clean out of your mind when you see the young guy standing in the center of the room.

The first thing that you notice is that this guy is ripped as hell. He’s a huge black dude with super-defined pecs and triceps, and his arms are basically pure muscle. You take in the rest of his body, trying to make your staring subtle. His eyes are deep brown, almost liquid, his nose and jawline are regal and strong, bulky gages hang from his ears, and from the neck down, there are probably fifteen tattoos. His calves are thick and glistening with sweat, and he wears a black tanktop that barely hides his prominent abs. Hot holy damn. You adjust your shades, hoping that he can’t see your flustered expression.

He turns around to you and Sollux, looking you up and down and opens his mouth, then shuts it again and waves Sollux out of the room. Then he turns to you.

_Please, God, don’t let him have a deep voice. Please let him have a dorky-ass Sollux voice._

“You ready to bust your sweet ass, white boy?”

 _Oh shit._ His voice is deep and rich, like a double bass playing its lowest string. _Shit. Fuck._

“What… Um, you don’t need to make a reference to my sweet ass. I already know how good it is." Fuck. That sounded lame.

“The name’s Caliborn, Cal to my friends, Master to my one-night stands.” He picks up a clipboard from the ground, and you look away, not wanting to admit your complete willingness to stare at his ass when he turns around. He flips through the thin sheets of paper. “Dirk Strider. 25 years old. Shoulders both broken in a car accident. Healed fast, needs six to eight weeks of physical therapy.” He nods.

“All right, Dick Rider.” Your eyebrows raise at this, but you make sure that your face returns to its apathetic mask. “The rules of Cal’s house are pretty simple. Don’t touch anything that I haven’t assigned to you. Don’t bring in food, unless it’s Mexican takeout. Don’t hit on the other trainers or patrons. Above everything else, do NOT make fun of my drawings. Get me?”

You don’t get him. “Yeah, okay.”

“We got a stoic prick here, huh? That’ll change by the time I’m done with you. C’mere.”

He takes you over to the climbing wall. “Make it to that post.” He gestures at a red rock about ten feet off the ground. You’d be able to reach it in ten seconds normally, but with two broken shoulders and a super-hot douchebag watching you with an almost carnivorous expression, your confidence is a little shaky. You chalk up your hands and try to scale the wall, but in three seconds, you’re falling from the wall, your climbing harness pulling you to earth. Caliborn grabs you by the waist, and in that moment, you feel yourself relaxing into his body, feeling his warmth, but as soon as you realize it, you stiffen up and inch away.

“Come on, twink. Try it again.” _Twink?_

You reach up the rock wall, yet you fall on your ass again. “Fuckin’ pathetic. You want me to carry you up there? Again!”

It’s going to be a long two months.


	2. Twink Punk Lumberjack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk is realizing that his feelings for his trainer might go a little beyond just thinking he's hot.

“Keep going! What are you, a puppet? Move your damn arms!” Caliborn is shouting, his dark skin beaded with sweat.

“I’m trying…. Shut the hell up, man.” You’re pulling yourself up the wall, trying to get twenty feet this time.

You can hear him scoff from the ground. “Don’t make me goddamn catch you, Stridass.”

There he goes again. In the last three weeks, Caliborn has given you all kinds of horrible nicknames. Stridick. Stridass. Dick Rider. He doesn’t even address you by your name, which you’ve only heard him say once, when reading your medical chart. You completely hate this guy, but regardless, you will admit that he is really hot. Like, maybe a couple times, you challenged him to climb the wall and see how high up he could make it, all the while staring at his muscular arms scaling the wall, his calf muscles tightening as he lands on the rocks. Maybe you stared at his ass, which looked incredible when he scaled the wall. Hell, maybe you might have pitched a tent while doing so.

As you finish the last few stretches of the wall, you drop back down and start toweling off. You wave a casual goodbye to Caliborn, who smiles his predatory grin. The two of you are starting to strike up a semblance of friendship, possibly. You’ve started to talk to him somewhat, learning a little about his personal life. When you’re back in your hospital bed, still kind of sweaty, you start to make lists of what you know about him.

He’s 28, he was a quarterback on his college football team, and he became a physical trainer because he didn’t want to abandon the world of athletics. He has a twin sister named Calliope, and even though Caliborn makes her sound silly and pathetic, you suspect that he’s exaggerating quite a bit. You’re starting to get used to his ridiculous hyperboles, and you can’t help but giggle when he refers to Sollux as “a bony nerd lord pissbaby”. He’s got a strong interest in Egyptian culture, his apartment described as “littered with endless piles of ancient shit”.  His ex-boyfriend was a stoner who had a strange clown fantasy, and Caliborn ended up breaking up with him due to the fact that he brought a bike horn into bed and honked it every time Caliborn tried to start anything sexy. Interestingly enough, Caliborn is also a pool shark and comes into work with wads of cash he’s won at bars, likely to rub his talent in your face.

As you think about Caliborn’s biceps, you get undressed, fall into bed, and start drifting off into sleep. And as expected, the nightmares attack.

_Jake’s blood spatters the windshield and runs over the Land Rover’s hood. You search for his head, impaled by the spikes of glass, but it’s not there. Something warm drips into your palm, and you look down. You scream in horror as you lift up your boyfriend’s disembodied head, and then a voice begins to speak to you._

_“Kiss him.”_

_You whirl around, and you see a man dressed in completely in a black jumpsuit. His eyes are completely covered with black shades, and his white hair is styled into soft spikes. He glows with a red aura. Your eyes widen._

_What the hell…. It’s you. A dark, menacing version of you, but it’s still you._

_“What are you?” You start shaking._

_“I’m you, Dirk. I’m the you that you wish you were. I’m stronger, smarter, funnier, more handsome, even. Wake up, Dirk. Smell the roses. You’re nothing.”_

_You drop to your knees, Jake’s head still lolling back at you from its position, black hair tightly gripped between your fingers._

_“Kiss him, Dirk. Kiss him.”_

_And your mouth, stuck in a silent, screaming O, closes the gap between your lips to Jake’s cold, bruised hole of a mouth. You try to pull away, but your mouth stays frozen, Jake’s lips welded to yours. The sound of your double’s laughter echoes behind you as your muffled screams eclipse your brain._

You sit up straight, screaming. Instantly, there is a rattling of your doorknob, and shocked, you yell even louder. The door swings open, and for a moment you’re ready to face your double. But when you see the face behind the door, your screaming is instantly quelled.

“Strider. What the hell is happening?” A heavily muscled body shoulders its way into the room. Caliborn stands in front of you, and you touch your hand to your face, terrified of how you must look. Feeling a wetness, you look at your hand. Tears.

You’re about to fall over with humiliation. Not only are you literally in tighty-whities, but Caliborn saw you crying. And when he walks over, you think he’s going to laugh at you, this big trainer guy with the pectorals of fucking Zeus.

But you’re surprised when Caliborn steers you by the elbow towards your bed, sets you down, and puts you on your side. And you’re even more surprised when he gets in besides you, the hospital bed fencing in the two of you close together. And you are so goddamn fucking surprised when he reaches his arm around you. But then his nose is buried in your neck, and the sudden warmth makes a wave of sleep wash over you.

In the morning, he’s gone. A tall impression of a body is curled around your own indentation in the mattress. You lie there for a bit, stroking the imprint, before getting up, dressing, and heading down to PT. He’s preparing your harness for the climbing wall, and when you walk in, he looks into your eyes for a moment. Then he gestures to you to get in the harness.

Neither of you mention that moment.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It's been two weeks since the weirdness between the two of you, and you can't get it out of your mind. 

Caliborn still hasn't said anything, and neither have you, but you can still feel the tension. Why did that asshole have to make it more complicated than it was. You don't have an anime schoolgirl crush on him or anything like that. You don't think about how he's hot, ripped, interesting to talk to, and a huge asshole; just your type. You do not think about how every time you go to the PT center, you watch his every move from the climbing wall, hoping he'll reveal his delicious six-pack. And you definitely don't think about his perfect,  _perfect_ ass, how the smooth curve of it rises, how it's so firm, and how it rises ever so slightly when he stretches, and how you want to sink your teeth into that ass, how you want him to yell your name in pain and pleasure, and....

Oh shit. You totally have an anime schoolgirl crush on your sexy trainer. Goddamn it. 

And it really doesn't help that you still feel the same crushing sadness about Jake's death, and that the nightmares continue to haunt you every night. Lil' Hal, as you've named your malevolent dream self, constantly forces you to kiss a disembodied head, sometimes Jake's, sometimes Jane's, sometimes Roxy's. But you're starting to realize that while you're still upset about Jake's death, the love for him you once had is fading. Now you're getting used to him not being around, and after seven weeks in the hospital, you're starting to recover from your depressive slump. You're eating solid foods instead of broth and juice, and you're not throwing up anymore. Your weight is back to normal, and your muscles are starting to get developed again, thanks to Caliborn's intensive training. You're slowly but surely starting to get back on your feet, and though you probably will always love him somewhat, you need to move on. You don't know if that makes you more of a terrible person than you already are, but you find that when you think of Jake, you don't think of him with love. You miss him so much, but because he was also your best friend. 

And now you think that it's time to do the unthinkable; asking out your hot trainer.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You get out of your bed and go over to your suitcase that you packed before you left for your hospital stay. From it, you draw out a plaid button-down shirt, a black tanktop, a pair of jeans, and Converse. You make sure that your hair is perfectly styled, and then you stare at yourself in the mirror, making sure not one thread is showing. You look damn good. Heart pounding, you take the elevator to the PT room and walk in like you own it.

Caliborn is lifting weights over in the corner, his biceps bulging. As you walk in, he fumbles. It's a quick fumble, but you notice that he almost drops the weight. _Perfect._

"What do you want, Stridass?" He comes closer to you, and dear God, if you weren't about to faint earlier, you are now. 

He sizes you up. "Damn, you look like a twink punk lumberjack. Not that it's a bad thing, but the fuck are you doing dressed up like that? You are shitting me if you think I'm gonna let you work out in that."

You clear your throat. "Caliborn-"

"Cal, Dickrider. I thought we'd reached that threshold by now."

You're pretty sure you're sweating. "Okay, um... Cal, how do you feel about vodka?" Holy fuck, you are such a dweeb. 

He looks at you a bit confusedly. "Vodka? Why the hell do you want to know that?" 

"I... I was thinking about possibly inviting you to my apartment to have some drinks and talk a bit. You seem like a chill guy, I guess, and I'd like to talk to you outside of two hours a day in this hellhole." You're regretting every word spewing from your mouth.

Caliborn's eyebrows raise slightly. "Stridass, you'd better not just have called my gym a hellhole."

"It's a hellhole. Yes or no? Does Friday after PT work for you?"

He shrugs, grinning a little. "What's your motive, Dickrider?" Your heart might have stopped when he called you that, but you soldier on.

"Nothing, man, just kinda want to hang."

He nods, a smirk settling on his face. "Friday sounds fine."

You turn to leave, your heart still pounding.

"Strider!" 

You turn around. "What now?"

His smile can only be described as shit-eating. "Should I wear underwear?" 

You gulp, pretty sure that it can be heard across the room. "You do you, man." 

And when you turn to leave the room, you're pretty damn sure that you hear a soft snicker.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, I was not expecting to write this today, but here I am, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Chapter 3 coming soon! :)


	3. A Lack of Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk is trying to make everything perfect so that he can seduce Caliborn. But when Caliborn arrives... the tables turn a little bit.

You have no idea what to do.

Caliborn is coming over in less than three hours, and you just got back to your apartment, which is absolutely filthy. Your plan is to seduce the man, not to get him eaten by the mold monster that you’re pretty sure is growing on the counter.

Did you leave the place like this? No, but you put Dave in charge of caring for your apartment while you stayed at the hospital, seeing as initially you couldn’t drive for 50 minutes back and forth twice a day. That was a big, big mistake. Dave’s been using your place as a love nest for him and Sollux, apparently (as you found used condoms littered everywhere and mysterious stains on your walls). Your brother is going to pay. But first, you have to clean that up (and likely be scarred forever) and you also have to clean up everything else Dave did to the place.

There are apple juice bottles everywhere; you count about ten one-gallon bottles. Dave’s douchy boxers are on every inch of the floor, and the sandwich that he left on the counter now resembles a science fair experiment. For the next two hours, you scrub the place down; you get a big-ass bucket of soapy water, a sponge, and about ten bottles of air freshener. You scrub the hardened… _splatters_ on the wall; you hold your nose as you literally scrape the mold of your counter; you do the dishes by hand, making sure every plate and glass is perfectly rinsed and shining; and you grab all of Dave’s stuff and shove it into your closet, burying boxers, shitty records, and a taxidermied bird (what the hell, Dave?) in the laundry basket. With a half hour to spare, you start trying to look your best. You squeeze into the tightest pair of pants that you own; black leather pants that Dave bought you as a prank but that actually make your ass look amazing. You decide, after about ten more minutes, that you’ll go with a black and grey pinstriped shirt and a black tie. You run your hand through your hair to mess it up a bit. You are the perfect twink; cute, seductive, and a little bit messy. You have a feeling that Caliborn is going to eat it up.

Your phone lights up with a text. _On my way, there in twenty._

You rush to the kitchen, putting a bowl of cookies on the table, at the same time frantically trying to Windex every glass surface possible. You trip over your pants, the leather’s friction against your legs makes it hard to move without fearing a rip. As you fall to the ground with a hard thud, you think about the mood. Right now, your apartment is completely soundless and lonely, but you remember the candles you have in the drawer under your sink. You light five of them, scattering them around the living room and placing one smack center of your dining table. You grab the record player from the corner, dust it off, and put on a Frank Sinatra record. As _The Lady is a Tramp_ plays, you relax, slumping into your couch. And then you think, _Oh god. The bed._

You sprint into you room at top speed and rip off your old bedcovers, replacing them with fresh linens. Doing it takes you another five minutes, and it’s a ten-minute countdown until Caliborn gets here. You run into the bathroom, taking a razor to your stubbly face and cutting your cheek in the process. No time to think about that now, you think as you splash on aftershave, making sure not to get it on your shirt.

Another text from Caliborn. _What’s your floor number?_

You text him back, then almost drop your phone as you realize, _Oh shit, he’s early._

You sprint to the door, quickly sweeping the floor in front of it with a hand broom and dustpan. Then a hard knock resounds through your apartment, and you stand quickly, hitting your head on the wall. Your scalp stings, but there’s no time to do anything. You twist the doorknob, and there he stands.

Oh, damn, he looks amazing. He’s wearing a pair of ass-hugging army-green pants and a black muscle shirt which makes his biceps look incredible. His head has been closely shaved, and his eyes are blacker with the outfit than they’ve ever been.

“Stridass, you’re bleeding.” His voice snaps you out of your gaping reverie.

“Oh, shit. Yeah, I cut myself shaving….” You trail off, gesturing to the couch, inviting him into your living room.

“So, you ready to get trashed?”

“Trashed? What the fuck do you mean?”

“Vodka, Stridick, did you forget? Bring on the Grey Goose.”

Your heart stops as you realize that you forgot to go out and buy drinks.

“Oh shit.”

 ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Caliborn sits on your couch, sinking into the leather. “So now that you forgot to get us liquor, what do you propose we do?”

You bite your tongue, terrified of what you let escape your lips. “We should ask each other questions. Things we want to know about each other.”

Caliborn shrugs. “Shoot.”

“Why’d you start working in PT? You could’ve played football, made a good career out of it.” You’ve been wondering this for a bit.

“This is a long story.”

“You got somewhere else to go?”

He sighs. “Fine, but you’d better give me something good afterwards.”

You try not to show your blatant arousal.

 

“I was in college, and the day I’d graduated, I ended up getting run over by my dad’s pickup. He was a pretty big guy, maybe even more ripped than me, and he had some anger problems. He was drunk, I think, and I was sitting in the driveway with Callie, and suddenly Callie shrieks and runs away. I wasn’t paying attention, I was sketching, and my dad ran me over. I lost my leg.”

He pulls up his pant leg and detaches his prosthetic, which you have to admit, is so well made that you didn’t even notice it. You’re pretty surprised that he was able to stay that fit and can now climb a seventy foot rock wall. He rolls the pant leg back down and continues.

“My dad got arrested and died a couple years later in a knife fight. He was a disgusting bastard; my mom left home right after we were born, at least that’s what he said to us.

“Anyways, I knew I couldn’t let my injury stop my strength and power, so I went to PT and trained. And I found out that I love the gym, the feeling I get when I pump that iron, the pure muscle in my legs, it’s magic. So I decided that I was going to spend the rest of my life there.”

He sits up. “How about you, prettyboy? What made you go to PT?”

Oh no. You don’t want to talk about it, but after that story, you figure you owe him. You sigh and begin.

 

“My boyfriend Jake and I got into a car crash. He died, but I lived and broke my shoulders. I was incredibly depressed, but then my douchebag nurse decided to put me in the hospital’s PT program. And you’re a pretty good trainer, so I stayed.”

 

His eyebrows raise. ‘Is that why you stayed, wimp?”

“What?” Your hands twitch and you begin to beat out a rhythm on your knee. He gets a look in his eye, something almost manic.

“I see you. I see you when you’re down at the bottom of the wall, always trynna get a look at my ass. I even saw that boner you got when I wore those tight, _tight_ shorts. Just for you.”

You are completely motionless as he scoots along the couch and straddles your legs in one fluid motion.

“I knew it from the goddamn start. You’ve been eye-fucking me since the day you walked into my gym. And you know what? I loved it.” He leans over to whisper into your ear, and you’re doing all you can not to tremble.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for the last two months, and finally, finally. You’re all mine, Strider.” His warm tongue licks a spot just under your ear, and you give a shiver. _Shit._

“I want you, Dickrider. Doing exactly that.” And with that, he crashes your lips into yours, and in a moment, the two of you are lying back on the couch, him on top of you, his tongue in your mouth, dragging against your bottom lip. You stay like that for years, decades, maybe millennia, and then he pulls away.

“God, you were so hot when you were bleeding earlier. Makes me wonder what I would do if you bled again.” And with that, he begins working on the buttons of your shirt, and when it’s off and the only thing left is your tie, he bites across your chest, enough to bruise, and finally draws blood.

“Strider, you’re fucking delicious.”

You’re totally lapping this up, and you push him off you, your voice thick with arousal.

“Bedroom.”

And the two of you stand up, his lips still on yours, and you think you’ve gone to heaven when he lifts you and your hips are wrapped around his ribs. He carries you to the bedroom, pins you down on the bed, and shuts the door, all the while smiling his predatory grin.

The two of you do not sleep at all tonight, and neither do your neighbors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot holy damn, I just wrote that.


	4. A Pretty Lengthy Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk finally asks Caliborn what they are.

You awake to hot breath on your ear, fingers tracing up and down the ridge of your spine, and a pair of lips kissing down your neck. You yawn, then turn over to your other side to face the man behind you, your lips forming a smirk already.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.”

He leans in a little towards your face. “We might have to prolong your stay in PT, ‘cause after last night, I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to walk again.” He goes in for a kiss and the two of you lie there for a few minutes, your lips on his and his fingers tangled in your hair.

You draw back, taking the blanket off his naked body, and take in the beautiful sight. His chest is riddled with bite marks and bruises, his voice is still a little ragged from how much he roared and moaned last night.

“Didn’t know you were gonna be so loud, but I loved it. And when I went down on you…. Damn, those noises almost sent me over the edge.”

He smirks. “It was good to know that you can use your mouth for something other than sarcasm. You were a lot better than I thought you’d be, and I want more of it. Your mouth belongs around my dick, Stridass.”

“And yours belongs on my ass, Cal.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Caliborn leaves after the two of you have made out for a solid hour, you call Dave and Sollux’s apartment. Sollux answers.

“What the fuck do you want?” His voice is thick with sleep; you’ve likely woken him from one of his and Dave’s post-coital slumber.

“Oh, _Sollux!_ ” You make sure that your voice absolutely drips fakeness. “I was just calling to thank you.”

“Dirk, what the hell? It’s ten o’clock and I’m not on call today. What made you think it was okay to wake me up?”

You smirk, knowing that you’ve probably made his day a lot worse that it would have been and that you’re about to make it a whole lot worse.

“Well, I wanted to tell you; I’m really enjoying physical therapy. Caliborn is a wonderful coach; why, just last night he put me in all kinds of positions!”

There is dead silence on the other line, and then Sollux’s voice returns with a threatening undertone. “What?”

“Ah man, I’m so sore now. I don’t know if I can even walk. Caliborn really rode me to the edge. It was a hard workout. Such a hard, _hard_ workout.”

There is silence, then; “Dirk, please tell me that you didn’t have sex with your physical trainer.”

You snicker into the line. “He really pounded me into shape.”

“Jesus Christ, Dirk. First of all, that’s completely inappropriate, and it’s illegal for Caliborn to have any contact with his clients outside of work. Second of all, you should have known better, you dumbass.”

“Oh, calm your tits. I’m only working with him for another two weeks and anyways, it was just a casual thing, it probably won’t happen again.”

He sighs. “Why am I not reassured by that?”

You grin into the line. “Because you probably know me better than that.”

“Be careful, Dirk.” He hangs up, and you put your phone down, smirking at how uncomfortable that uptight asshat sounds.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

You’ve gotten Dave to drive you back to the hospital so you can finish your stint in PT, and while you’re pretty sure that Sollux told him about Caliborn, he hasn’t mentioned it yet.

“So, how are your shoulders?” His hands are tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

“Pretty good. I’m training pretty intensely, rock climbing, stuff like that.”

“Oh yeah, as well as screwing your trainer.”

 _There it is._ “Frankly, Dave, that’s not any of your business.”

“I’m not saying that it is, but dude, are you insane?"

You roll your eyes. “Bro, this guy was just a casual fuck, and I really just needed a dick to ride. And man, that guy can really suck ass, and he’s so loud, and oh my god, his thick, _thick_ -“

  
“Jesus Christ, Dirk!” Dave snaps at you. You raise an eyebrow; Dave’s hasn’t yelled at you since you were sixteen and you broke his turntables. But your alarm increases when you see his face turning bright red below his shades.

  
“You constantly do shit like this. And I don’t want to control you or anything, but this is getting out of hand. Not only are you completely vulgar-- god, I never thought I’d say that to you, but you’re trying to freak me out by talking about this sex stuff. And I think that you shouldn’t be getting involved with this guy so soon after Jake. I’m trying to look out for you, I’m your goddamn brother, and I care. So don’t goddamn try to push me out of your life, because I will claw my way back in.”

  
Your mouth hangs open. You’re not used to Dave talking that much, or that seriously, and definitely not talking about how much he cares about you. His hands are shaking on the steering wheel, and he’s so furious that he throws his shades down to the floor. You are shocked to see the tears in his eyes.

  
“Do you know how worried I am about you? I’ve been on the phone with Roxy every night for the past six weeks. She’s worried about you. Jane’s worried about you. We’re all so tired, and anxious, and unhappy, but you know what we are most of all? We’re goddamn terrified. You weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you were depressed, and you were physically hurt. And now on top of that, you’re fucking the first hot guy you saw after Jake. What the hell is wrong with you, Dirk? I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”

  
You stare at Dave, your stoic brother, who you idolized since you were born. You stare at his red eyes, bloodshot and frantic, with deep purple circles of puffy skin around them. He looks like shit; he hasn’t been sleeping for a while. And it suddenly occurs to you that maybe Dave told Sollux to put you in PT. Maybe Sollux wasn’t just waking up from post-coital sleep, maybe he was staying up with Dave to talk about you. Maybe messing with Sollux made Dave think that he was a fuck-up.

  
“God, Dave, I… It’s not like that at all. I didn’t mean it like that. Caliborn is different. You don’t understand… when I’m with Caliborn, I feel safe, and it doesn’t help that he’s really hot, and that he’s sweet when he wants to be, and that I want to be with him-“

  
“So he’s what? Your boyfriend? Your friend with benefits? Do you love him?”

  
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Dave, I can’t explain it. I want him in a lot of ways, but it’s hard to understand. I just know that it’s not a desperation thing or a rebound, because I genuinely want to be with him, and I don’t know what I am to him…”

  
You trail off, realizing how true this is. Maybe you’d like to know what Caliborn thinks the two of you are. Maybe you’d like to know if you’re boyfriends, considering the amount of time that you spend together. Caliborn made the first move, sure, but you were the one who seduced him.

  
The two of you arrive at the hospital, Dave gestures for you to get out of the car. “Bye.”

  
“Bye, Dave.” You open the car door and get out, then stop for a moment, pull open the car door, and kiss Dave on the cheek. “I love you, bro.”

  
Dave’s jaw drops; this is probably the first time that you have ever kissed him. Then a truly happy smile splits his face. “I love you too, little man.”  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You’ve lain in your hospital bed for the last five days, trying to figure out what to do, what to say.

  
_Caliborn, what are we?_

  
_Was that a one-time thing, or are we doing that again?_

  
_Are we dating?_

  
_Do you feel about me how I feel about you?_

  
You’ve been back to PT, and Caliborn trained you as normal, but there were sly butt touches, whispers in your ear, and okay, maybe you fucked in the guys’ bathroom nine times. But you still haven’t brought up the subject, and the feelings of worry and guilt intensify when the two of you are alone. And today, you have to steel your gut and do it.

You take the elevator down to PT, and when you walk in, Caliborn is toweling off his body, turning around so that you can get a full view of his six-pack.

“Hey, bitch. Ready for round ten?” he purrs, wrapping his thick arms around your shoulders and pressing his boner _(wow, really?)_ into your back. You relax a bit, then stiffen, remembering what you have to do.

“Actually, I need to talk to you.”

“But why? Your mouth should be doing different things.” His voice is husky and low, and going straight to your…. Nope. No, you have to do this.

You wriggle out of his grip with a sigh. “Caliborn. What are we? Are we boyfriends? Are we fuck buddies?”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, then stutters. “Um…”

You’re surprised, never having pegged Caliborn as the type to ever be caught off guard. “I just want to know.”

“Do… do you want to be boyfriends?” His voice is unsure.

“Do you?” God, you sound like teenagers.

“Strider, I just… I don’t want that kind of commitment. We’re having fun, not really anything more, and yeah, fucking you is really amazing, but I don’t think I’m ready.” He looks embarrassed, running his hand over his shaved scalp.

Your stomach drops a foot. “Um… Okay, yeah, just checking to make sure we were on the same page.”  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The training session continues, but the two of you don’t talk until the very end, when Caliborn hands you a slip of paper. “Take this to the front desk.”

Your initial confusion fades to shock as you read the bold type on the paper. “I’m being released?”

“Yeah. Your physical therapy’s done, you healed fast, and you can leave now.”

The two of you shift uncomfortably, really not knowing what to do. You clear your throat.

“So, bye, I guess.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

And as you make eye contact with Caliborn, probably for the last time, you lift your hand in an embarrassed wave, then turn and walk out of the gym, trying to ignore the numbness in your gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. Chapter 4. It was surprisingly emotional to write. I cried.


	5. Two Kinds of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk gets in trouble, and it's all for the best.

It’s been three weeks, and you can’t get Caliborn out of your head.

You remember the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, his eyes flashing as his hips slam against you. You remember his smell, sweat and talcum powder. You remember his kiss, hungry and consumptive, and you remember how he whispered in your ear that he wanted you.

You’ve tried cleaning your apartment, drinking, drawing cartoons; anything to distract yourself, but it’s not working. You remember too much.

Your shoulders are fine, you assume, so you’ve started working out on your own. Push-ups, chin-ups, everything that you used to do with Caliborn. Keeping yourself in shape is always important to you, but lately you’ve been doing it more than ever, staying up late into the night, keeping your horrible dreams at bay by pushing yourself into a dark, dreamless exhaustion. You know you shouldn’t be working this hard, considering it’s only been twelve weeks since you broke your shoulders, but you’re trying anything to keep your mind off Caliborn. It doesn’t help that you’ve been jerking off like crazy, too, which probably puts even more stress on your shoulder, but you don’t really care. You just wish that Caliborn would stop sneaking into your sexual fantasies and get off your mind.

Currently, you’re trying to listen to music as you work out, doing one-armed push-ups on the kitchen floor, but you stop cold as the song changes from ABBA’s “Man After Midnight” to Sinatra’s “The Lady is a Tramp”. The song that you tried to seduce Caliborn to before he turned the turntables on you. _Shit._ You don’t want to think about him right now, so you drop the weight in your left hand, walk to your bed, and collapse.

_Night sky blossoming over you, blood cascading down your arms. You wiggle your arms experimentally, then flinch as bright lights appear in front of you. You squint, trying to see the source, but they snap off, dousing you in darkness. As your eyes adjust, you see the familiar Land Rover, with the cracked windshield, and you steel yourself, knowing you’re going to see Jake’s head protruding from the glass, but it registers that there’s something wrong. The scalp is too dark, the nose too prominent. The head sticking out of the windshield isn’t Jake’s, it’s Caliborn’s._

_You stumble back in horror, then feel a hand on your shoulder. You whirl around, seeing a pair of red eyes._

_“Hello, Dirk.” Hal’s voice is smug, no doubt because you’re gaping and mouthing the words_ No. Caliborn, no.

_Your throat is finally able to form words. “Why him? Why Caliborn?”_

_A chuckle starts bubbling in the back of Hal’s throat. “You pathetic idiot. You just don’t understand, do you? Think about it a little bit. Why were you dreaming about Jake? Why do you dream about Roxy and Jane? Why are you so scared of losing them?”_

_The answer comes from your mouth hesitantly, realization dawning on you in a terrifying moment. “Because I… I love them.”_

_“Bingo! Do you see now? You love Caliborn. You let him go. You ruined it, and you want it back. God. You’re so near-sighted when it comes to yourself, so I guess I’ve got to do it for you.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Dirk, this is probably the last time you’re ever going to see me. And you’re going to feel such pain, but everything I’m doing is for you.”_

_“Hal, what are you-“_

_“Shut up, Dirk. It’s only going to make things worse.” And with that, he disappears in Cheshire-Cat fashion, fading away from his legs up, and for a second his head hangs grotesquely in the air, winking, then vanishing altogether. And everything begins to fade away, until your eyes snap open and…_

Pain. Aching and sore, your shoulders are shuddering and sending jolts of agony down your body. Oh shit. You remember the reminder that they gave you after you left the hospital; if your shoulders started aching inexplicably, call the hospital immediately.

You grab your cell, trying your best to ignore the fire coursing down both your arms. You dial 911, and when the operator answers, you can barely choke out “My shoulders, my shoulders,” before you black out.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You blink awake, numbness blanketing you, and the first thing you see is fluorescent light. Then, you feel your hand being grasped and there's a skinny form with dark hair and glasses leaning over you.

“Sollux?” you mutter groggily. “What… What happened?”

He looks at you, and an impossibly wide smile splits his face. You didn’t even know he smiled. Then he reaches around your torso and grips you in a firm hug. He pulls away after a few moments, and you are shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re all right. God, I was so worried. Dave called me and I ran over to this wing as fast as I possibly could. God, Dirk, he sounded so scared. Dirk, you’re so goddamn important to him… and I guess that means that you’re important to me too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… Dirk, Dave and I were doing some talking last night, and, well… um. He asked me something that I wasn’t expecting, and I… well.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Sollux, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Your brother and I… well, Dirk, I love him. And he loves me.”

You’re sitting up now, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. And suddenly, you start to put together the pieces.

“Sollux, while I love seeing you so embarrassed and flustered, can you tell me what is happening?”

You know before he says it. “Dirk, your brother…. Dave proposed to me last night.” He smiles for a moment, a truly euphoric, manic, giddy smile, and then it fades into a frown. “You’re okay with that, aren’t you? I mean, I know that you and I don’t have the best friendship, and I know that you don’t really see me as an important figure. I love Dave, but if you need time to understand, I can work with that, hold off on telling people for a few months maybe-“

You stop him by placing your hand on his. “Sollux.”

He stares at you, his mismatched eyes terrified behind his tinted glasses. “Yeah?”

“Welcome to the family.”

You look at each other for a moment, smiling genuinely, and then you both remember that you are manly, strong, stoic men, so you break your gaze and clear your throats awkwardly.

“Um. So I came in here to tell you what happened. Your shoulders have hairline fractures in them, so you’re going to stay here and go to PT again.” He rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, waiting for what he just said to sink into your head.

“Oh shit.” You’re pretty sure that your gut drops out at that moment. “Sollux, can I skip out on it? I don’t want to go back there.”

Sollux looks at you in confusion. “What about your sexy boy-toy trainer?”

“Yeah, that didn’t work out. It’s gonna be awkward, can you at least get me a different trainer?”

“Sorry, Dirk, but Caliborn’s the only trainer with any openings in his schedule. These last few weeks, he hasn’t really been keen on taking appointments.”

“Shit, Sollux, I don’t want to face him.”

“Sorry, kid. You’re going to have to swallow your pride.” He turns and leaves.

 ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

You make your way towards the elevator, pressing the button with shaky fingers. You’re terrified of seeing him again; your palms are sweaty, your knees are weak, and your arms dangle at your sides like cooked spaghetti. And no way in hell do you look calm and ready, because your breathing is shallow and uneven. As the elevator slides down, you rehearse how you’re going to greet him in your head.

_Hey. Long time, no see._

_Caliborn? It’s me, I injured myself again, not that you care._

_I missed you, but I’m not letting you take me up the ass again._

God, none of those are good; you can’t believe that your Strider snark is failing you now. Your relationship was more than sex, even if it was just romantic from your perspective, and you don’t want to sass him, but you’re at a loss to think of anything else to do. And you are not prepared as the elevator pings open, revealing the hallway that lead to those clear glass doors.

You walk down the hall, every step bringing you closer to the thing you fear, and when you push open the glass door, you have to catch your breath and stop for a moment.

His shirtless back is to you, doing curls on the machine, and you watch the muscles rippling from his back, such a familiar spectacle that you have to resist the urge to sneak up behind him and grab his ass. And oh, that ass is still at nice as you remember. It is amazing, and you can remember scratching down his back and grabbing it, him moaning into your ear...

And then he turns around, his face changing from determined workout mode to absolute shock. He looks at you, his mouth hanging open.

You raise your hand in a weak wave. “Hey, Cal.”

He stands still for a moment, and then the shock turns to rage. He rushes at you before you can do anything, grabbing you by the shoulders. He starts shaking you violently, screaming into your face.

“You complete fucking asshole. What do you think you were doing, disappearing off the map like that for almost a month? Do you really think this level of bullshit is going to fly with me? No, you waffle-headed twat, it sure as hell isn’t. Stop being such a fuckwad, because I can tell you right now, I wasn’t worried about you, because I knew that you were such an asshole already. But couldn’t the thought to give me a call cross your half-witted fuck-addled brain? I don’t know what your game is, but I will goddamn win, and you and your top-of-the-Bell-curve existence will fucking bow before me, because I missed you so goddamn much and I want to punch your shit-eating face into the ground.”

The veins in his temple are bulging, and his eyes are popping from his head, but he doesn’t stop yelling at you.

“I cannot believe I ever wasted my time with you. I could have gone out and bought a motherfucking gold toilet like Kanye West, but nooooo. I had to go and fall for the biggest cock-sucking septic tank I have ever met in my entire life. You’re fucking sickening, and I hate you so goddamn much, and you can just shove your dick all the way into your throat because you are a bloody turd rider, and I hope that you drive right the hell off a cliff, you shitpipe.”

He lets go of you, walking away and continuing his soliloquy, but you kind of tune him out except for his insults; _blah blah blah_ rejected asshole litter, _blah blah_ cunt without any of the warmth and depth, _blah blah_  I hope your fingers change into fishing hooks, and you get an itch in your balls; it’s all very dramatic. You allow him to vent for about two more minutes, and eventually he sits down and inhales deeply.

“Caliborn, I know you’re pissed at me, but I don’t understand why, since you were the one to tell me you didn’t want a relationship. Regardless, you’re a douche, but I need to get my shoulders fixed, and you need to help me. Let’s just forget it, okay? You can leave, I know how to use the gym.”

His mouth opens again, ready to start venting again, but he catches himself. “Fine. You can use my gym, but don’t touch my curling machine.”

He stalks out, his step heavy. And you go over to the curling machine, sit down, and begin.

 ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

You’ve been at the hospital for a full week, and you’re seeing less and less of Caliborn as the days pass. He walks in and out to grab his car keys or a sketchpad, and then he’s gone for the rest of the day. You notice that you’ve been thinking about him even more than usual, dreaming about him more, thinking about his voice, wanting to cuddle into him, and you continue to rehearse how you’re going to tell him.

_Caliborn, I love you._

_Caliborn, you’re a fucking asshole. I love you._

_Cal, I was going to tell you I love you but you probably figured it out already._

 

Ugh, this is not going to work. But you still think about it anyways, and you think that it’s time to tell him.

He walks into the gym at about noon, earbuds in both ears, avoiding eye contact with you, but you’re prepared. When he does look over at you, you are sitting atop his curling machine, smirking.

“Strider, what the hell? I told you not to touch my curling machine!” He’s coming over, and when he sits down on the bench across from you, no doubt about to scream in your face, you lean over quickly and kiss him.

It’s a quick kiss, nothing like the ones you usually share, but it makes Caliborn go still, so you put your hand on his knee and look straight at him.

“Cal. I love you. It’s all right if you don’t feel the same way. I promise, if you don’t want to look at me again after this, I’ll go away, but I’m in love with you. It’s not about the sex. It’s about you, and I know that you have some feeling for me too.”

He snaps out of his dazed state to mumble “Do not.”

“Cal, you admitted that you were worried about me and that you missed me, and that you fell for me.” You run your hand over his cheekbone down to his chin. “Yes or no, Caliborn? Do you want me to go away?”

“Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know. You don’t make sense. I don’t know why you make me feel what you make me feel, but I hate it. I want this to stop, and I want you in every way possible. Even,” and here he cringes violently “the romantic, cuddly way.”

And you look at him, and you lean in again, this kiss turning surprisingly hopeful and sweet. When he pulls away, he looks so blissful, something you’ve never seen on his face before.

“Fuuuuuuuuck. That shit is so…. Tennnnnnnnnnnnnnnder.”

You don’t think you’ve ever smiled more.

“All right, Stridass, get ready to change clothes, because I’m going to make you so goddamn hard-“

You smirk. “What was that?”

“I said, I’m going to make you work so goddamn hard. Now drop and give me twenty.”

 ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The pealing of the bells rings through the air, and you could have sworn that little birds flew around the air as Dave and Sollux walk down the aisle. Of course, you’re the best man, along with Sollux’s little brother, and a tall, buff, handsome man in a suit is looking at you from the front pew, looking grumpy, but you can hear him humming along to the tune of “Chapel of Love” in a bass voice. His prosthetic leg has even been cleaned for the occasion.

The ceremony starts, the red- robed priest standing at the altar, talking about marriage and stopping to correct anything that he thinks might even slightly offend anyone. You’re pretty sure that the entire congregation is starting to snore, with the exception of four people.

Jane, Jade, and Roxy are sitting in the pew next to your bored boyfriend, looking almost cartoonish next to his hulking figure, but that doesn’t distract you from the look on their faces. Jane is smiling widely, tears in her eyes, only pausing her joyful weeping to dab at the tears with her white handkerchief. Roxy is bouncing enthusiastically, healthy and plump from her two-month-long stay in an alcohol rehab center, and occasionally letting out a cheer of “Hell yeah, Uncle Dave!” Jade’s eyes are sparkling with love, and she looks at your brother with such pride that you think she just might burst. You’re grinning at all of them, tuning out the priest, until he says the words that wake everyone up.

“Do you, David Wesley Strider, take Sollux Con Ong Captor as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Dave’s eyes shine; he’s taken off his shades today. “I do.”

“And do you, Sollux Con Ong Captor, take David Wesley Strider as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Sollux smiles, showing all his teeth in typical Captor fashion. “You bet your ass.”

“Then, you may kiss the groom.”

And Sollux tilts Dave’s chin and kisses him full on the mouth, causing the church to ripple with sighs and sniffles.

The wedding guests follow the couple out of the church, stopping only when Dave and Sollux kiss again. You stand at the steps of the church, allowing your brother space as he kisses his husband again and again, muttering assurances of love and fidelity.

Warm hands touch your shoulders, gently wheeling you around to look into the brown eyes of the man you love. He runs his fingers through your hair, which you have gelled up especially well for the occasion.

“Watch the hair, asshat,” you mumble as you draw yourself again his suit jacket.

“Like hell I will, Strider.”

“Caliborn.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And you kiss for a few minutes, the summer air drifting around you in a blanket of warm haze. You break the kiss, gesturing at the leaving cars. “We should head to the reception, I’m supposed to DJ there.”

“Yeah, as long as I can get a double Mobius handjob in the hotel broom closet.”

You probably shouldn’t be doing this on the day of your brother’s wedding, but somehow, you don’t care. “Deal.”

And as the sun sets, and the two of you stride hand in hand towards the parking lot, a familiar voice, almost your own but not quite, speaks in the back of your head.

_About goddamn time, Strider._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! I'm so, so proud of this work.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is being written for t0talcha0s, who is one of my favorite people and one of my closest friends. They love Dirk and Caliborn, and we've been trading AUs all week. Enjoy!  
> you can follow me on tumblr at eightlegs-sevenvagurbas if you're into that :)


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